I Was Just Leaving
by Pretty Persistent
Summary: The missing moments in Will's life between 'Sectionals' and 'Hell-O.'


It's the first time you see her without the pregnancy pad.

At first, its absence seems so symbolic of everything that has come between you; of everything that you have lost.

But then you glance down at the pink shirt clinging to her flat stomach, and she looks like your girl, again.

You never really lost anything you ever had. The whole time, you always had her, and she was always all you ever needed. You could have tried again, or not at all, and it wouldn't have made much difference to you, so long as you had her.

But she tried to make something more, when there was never really anything there, and it seems to have broken a part of what you did have.

She fixes your tie, and you want her to fix everything else, just like the two of you always have, for each other. Deep down, you know that she can. But if you try to let her, you would be admitting something that you are just not ready for.

This relationship was your life. Before you got your teaching job—which is actually rather minute, in comparison—it was the only thing you ever cared about. You don't dare tell yourself that it's your fault things went wrong.

She asks you something you can hardly wrap your mind around. All you can think about is that she's here, again. You're here, together. And she's close enough for you to just hug her and make everything alright.

It feels like the question has been lingering for a while, so you just tell her you don't know. Because you probably do not.

But you hope she didn't ask if you still loved her, because you know the answer to that question.

You don't even have to think it, to know what it is.

You leave her there, speechless. She only happened to come home, when you were just leaving.

XXX

One bride calls off her wedding, and you tell her you just left your wife.

You weren't even sure what the words meant when you said them, because your wife is someone you have never really left.

And just walking out doesn't mean you've gone anywhere.

Or gotten anywhere.

You're still the same husband, with the same ring, on the same finger.

And she's still your wife, no matter how many times the word 'divorce' has been thrown at you in the past week.

You drive around by yourself for hours, because the guidance counselor told you she resigned, and now you don't even have a friend.

You stop at a bar, once you realize you have just enough gas to get yourself home.

After your first beer, you consider drinking so much that you can't even drive your gas-guzzling automobile home, but that isn't really something you do.

There's beer in the fridge, anyway, that's cheaper and colder. Still, you know you never even touch it, unless she brings one to you.

When you get back, she's getting some blankets and pillows, and tells you that she'll take the couch. You know you should offer to do it, since she's the one who has to find a new place, but all you can do is mindlessly drag your feet to the bedroom.

Just before you reach it, she asks you how the wedding was. And while you don't consciously intend for it, you tell her it was called off, knowing it will worry her.

As your face hits the pillow, you don't really anticipate her having a reason to.

XXX

She leaves early, the next morning. You know this, because you're not able to sleep very much, yourself, and she's already gone, by the time you pull yourself out of bed.

There's a note on the fridge, where you always leave them.

_Gone to therapy. –T_

You don't really need to know it, and she knows you don't really need to know it, but she's still trying—and that much, she wants you to know.

Maybe you're not trying, but you didn't think you had given up, either, until you realize that there's really no difference.

You put on a pot of coffee, but you let it scream all morning; you let it scream for you.

Her bed—the couch—isn't made, but you weren't expecting it to be. All you can bring yourself to do is crawl in it; bury yourself inside the blankets that you never use, because even when a blockade of pillows separated you, you've never spent a night apart.

In fact, they were so fresh, that they smell like her, after just one night. But you'd know her smell a mile away, regardless.

All you can do is lie there and smell her, for hours. Your tears mix with hypoallergenic perfume and Garnier Nutrisse hair gel.

You cry yourself to sleep, on the sticky mess you've made on her pillow case.

XXX

The front door opens, and you wake up to the smell of Chinese take-out. A sigh passes through your lips, and you just barely stop yourself from complaining about her choice for dinner. After all, it's not for you, anyway.

You glance at the clock, and realize you've slept all day. But the coffee pot you filled earlier is empty. You groan, and wonder if this is the first time she's been home.

She sets a plate on the coffee table for you, before returning to the island. You both eat in silence, and you know you've got to stop pretending, but you'll probably regret reality enough, the day it comes.

You crack open your fortune, despite knowing the future currently holds very little for you.

_Love conquers all._

Another crack sounds, and you swallow the lump in your throat.

She gets up to go to the bathroom, and you quickly get up to look at the tiny slip of paper she left behind, hoping for some kind of hint to confirm yours.

_You could prosper in the field of gardening._

They're just stupid cookies, anyway.

XXX

You are quite relieved to go back to work on Monday, but as it turns out, it doesn't make a whole lot of difference.

During the day, the guidance counselor is packing up her office.

And because she is your wife, her hours are similar to yours, and she's there when you're home, in the evenings, packing up her half of your life together.

XXX

It's the last day before Christmas break and the glee kids are singing a song to thank you (for not being at Sectionals).

_My Life Would Suck Without You_

You don't have anyone, and your life sucks. But losing everything all at once kind of makes it impossible to tell exactly _who_ life sucks without.

_Being with you is so dysfunctional. I really shouldn't miss you, but I can't let you go._

The words send you into a panic.

First, because you know that they are true.

And second, because the one thing that might let you let go of her is about to let go of you.

As soon as you dismiss the kids, you make your way to her office, wearing a smile, because you haven't planned any words.

But that fades, too, when you see that she's gone.

Then you run.

At this point, you no longer know if you're running to or away from something.

Until you see her just standing there, like she's waiting for you. You don't really understand why, but then again, you're the one running through the hallways.

She's only standing here.

By the time you get the box out of her hands, you realize you have no idea what to do, because you've only kissed one set of lips in your life.

And now you're both just standing there, and she's shaking her head, and you remember what your options are.

You press your lips against hers, but after that, you find yourself unable to move, so you just wait for her to wrap her arms around you, before pulling away.

She tells you that she was just leaving and you tell her to stay.

She says yes, but you never really gave her much of a choice.

XXX

For the first few days of break, all you can wonder about is whether or not she knows.

You've been walking around, acting guilty, as if you did something wrong. Technically, you're still married, so it's still cheating. But really, it's not much different than what you've been doing since the fall.

She's apologized, and you just want something to apologize for, but you should have said sorry a long time ago.

But so should she.

Which is why you've been alternating nights on the couch.

It's Tuesday morning and you're both sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee. It's supposed to be awkward, all this, but after fifteen years, you imagine there's no possibility of that.

Your phone goes off and a picture of a ginger flashes across your screen.

You take the call, even if you should have stepped out of the room. It's wrong, and you know she's been suspicious enough, but you kind of want your wife to find out. Things are too comfortable, and if you don't upset her, she'll easily find her way back to your heart.

The phone conversation isn't going too smoothly, though. You find it ironic that you have had more relaxed conversations in the past few days.

Somehow, you wrap up the conversation without using the words 'separation,' 'divorce', 'moving out,' or '(ex-)wife,' and you know you won't be seeing your co-worker until next year.

The blonde with the perfect hair is upset, just like you anticipated. Maybe even moreso.

You let her feelings enrage you, because it feels good to have a reason to keep pushing her away, when everything else is compelling you to do otherwise.

You tell her that maybe it's time she starts looking for another place to live, and she just stares at you, dumbfounded, because you have watched her circle ads, almost every morning.

She shakes her head at you and grabs her purse off the counter, telling you she was just leaving for work.

You don't apologize until she's out the door.

XXX

She went to her older sister's for Christmas Eve.

Even though you'd hardly spoken over the past few days—other than her informing you that she found an apartment—she invited you to go with her, because that's what the two of you have always done.

You thanked her, but politely declined. The loud woman has hated you since you started dating her sister in high school, so you can only imagine how she must feel, now.

You've been sitting on the couch like this for hours, watching bad Christmas programs and sipping on the same beer that has now gotten warm.

She gets home earlier than you expected, which is nice, because you're already tired, despite how little you've done.

Walking through the doorway, she sighs, and you can tell she's tired, too, so you mentally decide to stay on the couch for the night, even though it's your turn for the bed.

Clearing your throat, you stand up and pull a small box from your pocket. She looks skeptical as you approach her, and you can't say you blame your wife, after buying her jumper cables, last year.

You have never been great at picking gifts, but this year is a little different.

She stands in front of you as she opens the box, revealing a silver key. You had to have the locks changed, since people like her sister had a copy.

But you tell her she's welcome here, any time.

She nods, tearfully, and heads toward the bedroom, even though neither of you discussed the fact that you would take the couch, again.

XXX

She moves out on Christmas morning.

XXX

It's New Year's Eve, and you're seeing her for the first time since Christmas.

You've hardly done a thing over the past week, and you suspect she hasn't, either. She looks a little thinner; a little paler. But maybe you're still getting used to seeing her without the pregnancy pad on.

She runs a hand through her seemingly lengthier hair as she informs you that her sister wants one of her old china sets, for tonight.

You're up on the counter, looking through the cupboards, when she asks about your plans for the evening. You're sure she suspects you'll be having the red head over, but you tell her otherwise, as you have no plans for the night—just like every other one, lately.

She nods, taking a box from you, and grumbles about some dinner party her sister is having. She doesn't look too thrilled when you tell her she should get the dinnerware back to the hostess.

So you offer for her to stay.

You're eating Chinese take-out and watching _Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin' Eve with Ryan Seacrest_, but it's better than what you were doing before she showed up.

Between the two of you, you've only killed off a bottle of champagne, because neither of you have ever been very heavy drinkers, during your married years.

Somehow, the mood is light. She's got her feet tucked beside her on the couch, like she always does. And she's smiling—you're both smiling—for what feels like the first time in ages.

She leans over to set her empty glass on the coffee table, and you reach to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear as she sits up.

Her eyes are unsuspecting when they meet yours, but as you watch her swallow the lump in her throat, you can feel the tension leave.

There's no denying that you leaned in first, when her lips are just as unsuspecting as her eyes were, the moment before.

But any prior caution is gone like the wind, when she reaches for you, and you scoop her up, and you both lose a layer of clothing by the time you crash down onto the bed as a tangled mass of arms and legs and lips.

And then suddenly, it's slow. You hadn't even meant for it, really, but you find that each of her soft gasps are met with each gentle roll of your hips.

Your bodies connect in that way that a husband and wife's always should.

You gasp each other's names as it ends. Carefully rolling off of her, you face each other, and the two of you press your lips together with your eyes wide open.

The clock strikes midnight.

You should have waited. It is a new year, and now tonight seems to be piled with the rest of your baggage.

She wishes you a happy new year, in a hushed whisper.

Even though there's nothing happy about it.

XXX

On your first day back to work, you go straight to the guidance counselor's office. Maybe because you need some guidance.

But that's never really done you any good.

Maybe you just want to see her. And at this point, that might as well be the reason, if any at all.

You're not really sure why you're there, until she offers you a seat and you're about to tell her that you were just leaving, when you realize that you have nowhere to go.

So instead, you sit, and say the only thing that seems to make sense in this situation.

"Hi."


End file.
